


Sweven

by De__Luna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dream Smp Implications, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, IRL Minecraft, M/M, Manhunt - Freeform, Minecraft Manhunt, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Teasing, Two Endings, Why Did I Write This?, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De__Luna/pseuds/De__Luna
Summary: George wakes up in a completely desolate forest and everything just doesn't make sense.The compass in his pocket.The mysterious note that seems to appear from flames.And the man with an obnoxiously bright yellow coat and a smiley faced mask.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	1. Compass

**Author's Note:**

> At the beginning I would like to say that if the cc's mentioned in this ff at any point express discomfort with being in it, I will delete it or moderate it. Also, English isn't my mother tongue, so I'm sorry in advance for any errors that may occur. Enjoy!

George's hands were trembling as they held a few sticks in a tight grip. Cold sweat dripping from his neck. The panic in his eyes would be surely visible by bystanders if there were any nearby. But most certainly nobody stood in sight. He was all alone with no recall of what has happened before he woke up in the middle of the woods.

It was in an afternoon when the wind was whistling singing its ballad as if it wanted to compose a beautiful symphony that would persuade innocent souls into the depths of the woods. The ground was cold and felt alien. He was just confused even if he didn't remember where he had fallen asleep he would swear that it wasn't a desolate dark oak forest.  
  
Everything bought him stress. Night was yet to come, and he couldn't imagine to fall asleep in this unknown place. He didn't even know why he was here, how did he get here and in what way he will be able to handle this situation.

And most importantly he didn't know where was his home if he had one.

He sat down as he couldn't breathe because of the constant movement that he enforced on his barely awake, exhausted body. What exactly do you do in this kind of situation? Cry? Run? Even if you want to flee where would you go?  
  
George leaned his back against the tree feeling lightheaded. It was a better choice to think through the circumstances rather than run around and waste energy. He rested his head on his knees looking to the side. He was on the edge of panicking.  
  
_'Well, I don't remember anything before I woke up'_ he thought to himself wiping of the sudor of off his forehead. A heavy exhale left his mouth. He felt hopeless _'No one is here. I don't understand. What should I do?'_ he asked himself knowing well that nobody can answer his question.  
  
He remained there for a while trying to control his breathing which helped him calm. Sticks lying restlessly next to him reminded that in order to survive he has to try to set up a fireplace and try to not burn the entire forest.

He had nothing on him or at least he thought so. That made him search through his pockets maybe naively deluding himself that he wasn't there left for a certain death.

To his surprise and content his soft palm met a cold, metal, round object. He took it out to see a gold case with a blue and red dart behind a bit scratched glass surface.

A compass.  
  
He looked at it carefully noticing that the arrow behaved in a peculiar way swinging in a wrong direction going from left to right not wanting to stay in one place.

George looked at the dark oak trees in front of him, Moss growing from the right side meaning that north is to the right. But the dart was facing south-west. To be sure he looked forward as the sun gave him the same answer – leaning in front of him to the west horizon.

It made no sense, absolutely no sense and whatever it has meant it was strange and terrifying.

At this point he couldn't be less bothered with this weird compass. Feeling as the weakness was taking a toll on his body. He had just woken up about an hour ago but still he suffered from unreasonable fatigue.

He had nothing else to do anyways and something told him that the time would be on his side. Nothing anticipated that soon he would regain his memories and go back from wherever he came from.

Now was the time that he had to focus on surviving. His hands were still quivering in fear as he started to put the twigs in a circle that would enable him to light a campfire. When he finished he stood up to look for two relatively sharp pieces of stone in order to set the fire. The smell of wet grass and fresh air scented like cider and mulch would be nice if he was on a walk on a tepid Sunday noon. But he wasn't.

Actually he didn't even know what was the day of the week today.  
  
Whilst walking between the closely growing tree he felt damp litter sagging under his feet and also the uneasy feeling that any creature could be lurking behind his back with not so pure intentions.

  
All he felt at the moment was uncertainty and dread which on the bright side eliminated hunger. It wouldn't last forever though, and it would be logical if he looked around for food.  
  
But still there was no living being in sight or plants that seemed edible. Complete desolation.

  
The absence of any creatures was maybe for the better or maybe for the worst. For now, it was unknown.  
  
His steps were cautious and the rich brown colored eyes searched the surroundings carefully. Slender fingers reached random fragments of gravel as quickly as possible just to go back quickly to the spot that he identified as a safe place. If George could he wouldn't leave this part of the woods. The unknown territory where everything looked the same was just something he wasn't ready for.

But tomorrow he wouldn't have a choice but to be prepared.  
  
George tried to ignite the sticks numerous time before being successful and having a little source of warmth, that made a faint crackling sound. He didn't even notice when the sun started setting leaving an orange glow on his face and taking away the natural heat. Nighttime came making everything even more quiet and lonely, sending chills down George's spine as he rubbed his lanky arms.  
  
_'I don't know if I will be able to fall asleep'_ a breathless thought passed his head.  
  
He was completely incorrect as his eyes not even one minute later went tight shut probably from all the exhaustion even if he hadn't done many things this day. His body slowly started slipping from a sitting position to lying position.  
  
Fire warmed his face and the breeze gently stroked his eyelids and eyelashes wet from the night dew. It looked to be around spring wherever he was. It was calming, the atmosphere felt like a reassuring embrace which was very much needed after that day. Somehow the night made everything feel like a good type of alone.

  
He slept soundly.

***

Another day came with the realization that he could no longer procrastinate. George was happy though. He could count not dying in his sleep as a minor success.  
  
The forest felt less desolate with melodious chirps of the birds that he couldn't see as they were flying high above. It seemed a lot more cheerful and less forlorn. It might be because of the way that sun shines through branches which in some foolish way made him happy. Like the first sunny day after a long cold winter.  
  
He sat up feeling an ache in his back which was completely reasonable whilst sleeping on the hard ground with singular, tiny rocks sticking into his body like little sharp needles.  
  
The fireplace burned out leaving only a trail of ashes and a specific scent. One thing out of order reached George's vision as he sat up.

Buried in the cold cinder a sheet of yellow parchment.

This plight was starting to get really out of hand. Nothing really made sense and it was worrisome.  
  
Even though he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know what the ambiguous letter said. His, still warm from the state of unconsciousness, hand reached for the sheet of paper unfolding it to see a bunch of words written in a really neat, slightly cursive handwriting.  
  
„ _Welcome, Dear Hunter._

_  
You must be confused how have you end up in this place, but that’s something you don’t have to worry about. You must have noticed a compass that we gave you. It will be a very much needed object on your journey. You must keep it on you under all and any circumstances. It’s important to you as a hunter. The dart points towards your quarry. You must hunt down the person to complete your mission as the hunter._

_  
Good luck on your embassy._

_  
Sincerely, [unreadable]”_

  
George looked at the letter with nothing but bewilderment.

‘ _What is that supposed to mean'_ he asked himself reading the note once again to make sure that he understood everything properly. To his discontent letters didn’t suddenly form any other words changing the sense of this message.

Apparently he has to hunt someone down. They, whoever they were, wanted him to commit slaughter on a person he didn't even know.

His mind went blank. Nothing here was understandable it just doesn't add up. Not to mention how fast the situation was escalating in his eyes not even giving him a moment to breathe.

  
It was fucked up.

  
Properly fucked up.

  
But what other choice he had. Nowhere to go, nobody who he knew, nothing else he had to do. He couldn’t even tell who he was apart from that his name was George, he was twenty-four years old and lost in the wilderness without food that at this point his stomach plead for.

  
George stood up weakly on his feet carelessly putting the note into the pocket of his slightly worn off, loose jeans and taking out the compass out of the other pocket. Still pointing south-west where he started to head out as he intended to even before he had received the letter.

  
The dark oak forest itself was dim giving him a turbulent feeling and gratitude towards the morning sun helping it not to be totally pitch black. He had goosebumps all other his exposed forearms not only from the chilly atmosphere but from the request.

  
More so he would call it an order rather than a request. They didn't ask, they said he must do as they say.

  
But it wasn’t like he had to kill the person. At least that’s what he thought to himself. He wanted to check who the individual was. Even if he wanted to exterminate anybody he didn't have any tools to commit such a crime. Not like he intended to do anything, he couldn’t look into anybody’s eyes as they would go pale and the last breath leaving their body inert. Lifeless.

Chills went through the entirety of George’s body as this thought flew through his head. Like his situation wasn’t terrible enough now he was given an assassination order and something told him that he didn't want to test theirs grace or disgrace.

Clutching onto the compass he went straight ahead trying to keep up a rather quick pace. His thoughts angled towards what would he say when he catches up to his prey.

_Prey._

This word tasted like poison on the back of his tongue making him almost physically sick. At the moment he didn't even know who the person was which made him speculate. Because maybe that wasn't somebody innocent. Maybe he was supposed to bring justice taking their last breath away no matter how trivial and stupidly heroic it sounded.

George didn't want to think about that. He felt like he was in some kind of stupid horror game wanting to just stand in one place and not move an inch. The difference from a game and his situation was that he was left without a choice, without an escape button.

That's why his steps started to speed up and change into a trot. He didn't even notice when he was fully running. Lungs and the bottom of his stomach burning and clashing with the chilly air entering his respiratory system. He was racing with the sun and the wind, wide tree trunks mangling in his eyes.

Soon he noticed that he was on the edge of the dark oak forest. No longer seeing trees growing densely not even a foot and five inches apart.

The plains.

Grass flowing smoothly with gust of air. The sun felt warmer on his skin that steamed from the quite long run across the woods. He let out a heavy breath acknowledging the burn in his lungs, a taste of blood in the back of his throat and the light headiness even more.

His condition was truly terrible.

George stood on the border where the dark oak forest blended in with the grass field bent almost in half with his hands on his knees wanting to catch a breath.

 _'Never again'_ he thought to himself. A morning jog most certainly wasn't his thing.

He looked up when he finally steadied his breath.

Eyes went wide as the image appeared before his eyes.

A village.

It wouldn't be worrisome and even preferred to find this structure.

But the only thing that told him that it once was the remaining of the buildings, the rest was burned to ground. Ashes lying on the dirt once probably dancing in the air and the awful image of what looked to be the outcome of a natural wildfire or an arson.

As always nobody in the site making the village abandoned for obvious reasons. But this hamlet bought some hope. Maybe he could find some kind of resources to not only running around with a compass being an easy target for anything or anyone.

He got close to the first building stepping cautiously on the burned down, crumbling planks. George felt kind of weird going through a house that once belonged to someone and looting it. But as repetitive as his situation could be – he really had no choice. It looked like the battle between morals and natural want to survive is going to be something he will be constantly experiencing.

The inside of the big, spacious room surely smelt like burned down wood and charcoal. The dust filled up his nostrils making it a bit hard to breathe, nothing severe but still somewhat suffocating.

The place wasn't divided into rooms, most of the furniture burned down leaving only the kitchen mostly untouched. It made out of stone now darkened by the carbon sludge. He reached out to the cabinets most of them were slightly opened or destroyed as their doors were probably made out of wood or some other flammable material.

Still feeling like he was committing crime and using somebody's tragedy to his advantage he pulled a handle that was hanging down only attached to the one side of the lower cabinet's door. To his happiness something survived the fire. Three loafs of bread were like a blessing from heaven. His stomach suddenly woke up making a growling sound.

He took the loafs holding them close to his chest and breaking a piece of off one of them to put it into his mouth. It wasn't the best, but it had to do even if the bread felt a little like a tasteless rock.

Entering the second building he felt less like an intruder. A feeling of greed clouded his mind, but it was understandable as if he didn't know when if whenever in the future he would be able to grab new resources.

This house was slightly smaller but very similarly build to the previous one. He concluded that probably all of these builds will look the same with small alterations.

As he entered he was already surrounded by the kitchen counters where he found two apples that somehow remained unburned. Still chewing on his bread he saw a chest in the corner of the room. He put down the food dusting away the ashes beforehand.

The box contained everything that he probably needed. It was like a jackpot hit and actually the first time that something went well according to him. A silvery shining chest plate that he tried to equip as quickly as he could on his own. He tied all the knots on the sides of his body securely already feeling slightly more confident. At the bottom of the chest was a backpack where he put his food.

And finally an axe which looked a bit old and used but had to do the deed for now. It seemed even a bit too positive to have these things, but he decided to not overthink that.

He left the house once again happy that the dust could now quit his nostrils being exchanged for still polluted but fresher air.

The next house gave him nothing too overpowered. Only four more loafs of bread and eight carrots tied together at their stalk. Still he appreciated the food as he saw not one animal on his way and bread was just fine and enough for him to not starve to death.

As he was about to exit maybe one of the last houses the silence was disturbed by loud steps that made the ashes gust up into the air. He withdrew almost falling over which would made a lot of very much unwanted and unneeded noise.

He got down on his knees and slid to the wall that had a window above his head.

All he could think about was not to breathe too vociferously.

The curiosity was strong he had to know who was the first living being to be seen by him here. He got up just enough to peek through the bottom of the window and to not make the stranger acknowledge his presence.

His breath became even more shallow and suppressed when he saw a tall man in an obnoxiously bright yellow coat.

That definitely wouldn't come in handy in case of camouflage.

And most certainly the man didn't look like he needed to hide in any situation. He seemed to be strong which may have conducted to the way that he was walking. Like he was the last man on earth, and he could conquer the world.

He had a belt to which he had strapped sackers with whatever unknown content in them. His right hand was holding onto an axe. It was looking most frankly sharper and newer than the one that George has found minutes ago. His left hand fell inertly by his side and the fingers were grasping onto the handle of a shield.

The most alarmed he felt when he looked up to the face of that stranger.

Actually he couldn't see his face as it was covered almost entirely covered by a round mask with an absurd little smile yet so hideous. A bright yellow hood was draped over his head covering even more of his features showing only slightly a bit of longish blonde hair that didn't look like he had cut it for some time for it to grow to that extent.

When George thought he couldn't be more alarmed the stranger stood in the middle of the village attaching his axe to one of the straps to the side of his waist.

He took out a similar round object out of one of the sackers.

A compass.

Cold sweat momentarily dripped all over his body. He looked away and sat down quickly trying to stabilize his breath as the realization hit.

He wasn't the only hunter.

And now he was a prey on a silver platter.

 _'What do I do now?'_ was the thought that crossed his mind a million times by now. It was hard not to panic.

He looked around the room and deciding that all that he was in this building is an easy target. He crouched to not make his body visible out of the windows. Making his way carefully and thinking to him self that one wrong step, and he could as well go to choose his coffin.

It looked like he had a bit of luck on his side because one of the windows was already broken leaving shattered glass on the floor. He just had to jump which wasn't too bad because it was the first floor, but the foundations were pretty high.

He looked behind himself to notice that the man started getting closer and closer to the house that George was in. Furthermore, he was looking around the place and then glancing over the compass following its trail.

Trying to not hiss he put his hands onto the window frame where they were still irregular pieces of glass wounding the soft skin of his palm. It was irrelevant at the moment.

He jumped down unfortunately making more bruises and cuts on his arms from the broken pane. Also, his foot stung a bit from the pretty high jump that he miscalculated putting too much pressure on the left leg.

He wasn't safe just yet and had to come up with another step of his plan. He looked around shaking his head violently left to right and repressing his heavy breath. Not only that, but he felt really hopeless. The same house that he had just escaped seemed to have a tiny little window leading to some kind of basement.

That was his last chance.

He slid to his left, muscles trembling with horror as the hole was closer to the pavement which was occupied by as he suspected the hunter assigned to him. He took of his backpack trying to make as little noise as it was possible.

George slid almost in a snail like pace. Not to mention the burning feeling in his lungs from holding his breath too often. His hair started to stick to his forehead and even a drop of the sweat run down of off the side of his face leaving a sticky trail of terror.

The window was just close for him to put one of his leg through it which he did still hold the strap of his backpack that he could easily just pull into the hole once he dropped.

He couldn't suppress the gasp when on the pavement he saw a tall shadow.

 _'It's the end'_ he thought to himself starting to sweat profusely even more. How on earth was he supposed to jump down quickly and without his chest plate making a sound when the hunter what it seemed was right next to the building in which he was trying to hide.

He slid his right leg into the pitch black hole.

The shadow was still making up his way up to George's current location.

 _'Fuck it'_ he thought when jumping into the basement. Probably breaking a leg was better than an axe in the chest which make him just jump grabbing his backpack into the pit with him.

He instantly crouched trying to not hiss because of the earlier strained left leg.

The smiley faced mask man entered the house making the planks creak under his weight and the sole of his combat boots.

George once again let out a big gasp of dread. He bit into his hand trying to not make another sound.


	2. Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter and might get a bit boring and monotone for some, but the story will progress and get more interesting in the next chapters. Thank u for all the support so far.
> 
> Also, I'm going to update every once in a week.
> 
> Enjoy!

The clang of the hunters' armor was audible even in the pitch-black basement. It seemed that he entered the house. Steps made the weakened ceiling shake a bit and the planks creaked under the hard sole of his combat boots.

George's sight adapted to the darkness what made him notice that the ceiling had several gaps through which he could see the man roaming around the place. He decided to move just a little closer as he already felt that his rapid heartbeat was loud enough for the individual in his bright yellow coat to notice his presence.

The man was walking around the place a bit confused as he reached for his compass. George backed up his face from the ceiling to make himself less visible if somehow the hunter would get an idea of looking down through the cracks in the floor. Cold and damp stone wall against his back send chills down his spine as now the only sense he could depend on was hearing.

More creaks, scratching sounds of shoes against shattered glass, sand, and ashes that got into the house with the help of wind. Centrally above his head he heard a sound of some kind of doors opening with a squeak. Probably to a place of storage or a closet as the whole house was an open space not divided into rooms.

George looked up even though he couldn't see anything. Jaw clenched tight waiting for the outcome. Sickening thoughts going through his head, because if he hid in that closet he could be dead by now. 

On the other side he could assume that maybe it wouldn't be that bad, but this man looked nothing like a pacifist.

The hunter let out quite a long hum looking at the compass spinning in circles altering between clockwise and counterclockwise movements. His voice just in just that low sing was enough to make the brown haired man hold breath. The paranoid feeling of being too loud was overtaking his mind. Almost like he was developing some sort of phonophobia. 

Hands cold from the adrenaline and heart pounding in his chest painfully. He just prayed that he could get out of this situation with his head still attached to his body.

George didn't know if it was some kind of mercy or resignation but the steps of the hunter started to sound more distant. Soon the only thing that he could hear was his stabilized breath and whistles of the wind. He let out the long held breath.

Now when the awe left his mind blank he started to feel the unpleasant humidity of the basement and the smell of something rotten.

He focused once again on the room to see stairs in the left corner. Thanking fate he got up grabbing his backpack and getting out of this place as fast as possible. The door without any objections let him out to the outside behind the house.

There wasn't a lot of time to think anything through. In quite a speed walk he started to approach an oak forest behind this village not looking back, just wanting to get away.

He didn't know how long this escape has lasted, but it looked to be around noon. Now the emotions were running high, he was desperate to find the person that his compass led him to. He needed someone that didn't want to cut his head of immediately when they would find him in their sight.

He didn't want to be a crybaby, but he just felt exhausted and overwhelmed by the constant stress and the pursuit. Now that he had found his hunter or more truthfully — the hunter had found him — it was even worse. Why didn't he think that there may be somebody on his tail like he was on somebody's else? It looked to be some kind of vicious circle of consistent fight for life. Trying to kill or to not be killed.

His journey was rather boring and once again lonely, but he thought that this was better than fighting for his life. He was rushing through the forest once in a while glancing over the compass still stubbornly facing south-west.

 _'Gosh how far are they'_ a thought flew by as it seemed that the person went miles away and was still moving. At some point he even considered the possibility of him never catching up to them.

He avoided every village abandoned or not with a wide berth not wanting to get stuck once again. There probably was some limit of luck, and he felt like he was straining it a lot by weaseling out of many situations that at first sight seemed to be a lost cause.

But soon after about two days of almost nonstop traveling there came a breakthrough in his case. With a dart rapidly swinging towards the west. George couldn't help the eye roll when he saw another village. The amount of them was ridiculous at this point. Not to mention that they didn't remind him of anything good besides getting gear. He sighed heavily going towards the structure. It wasn't burned down like his village, but surely it was abandoned. Cobwebs overtaking the place weren't a good sign, but he couldn't go back now that he has almost achieved his current main goal.

He didn't like the silence at all. Almost like nobody was here. Is the object that his journey was depending on was lying the whole time being nothing but a piece of metal that didn't even work? He took out his axe that he previously attached to one of the backpacks straps.

 _'Just in case'_ he thought as he glanced once again over the compass. Arrow suddenly turning north-east threw him off. He frowned in confusion just to hear and almost feel a sword cutting through air just next to his arm.

That was some terrible aim.

George jumped back rapidly turning around and backing up to have at least a two feet distance between him and the stranger.

He didn't have a lot of time to study the man's features but for sure the thing that made him recognizable was a beanie underneath which singular strands of black hair peeked through. His hands in a tight grip on what seemed to be an iron sword shining in the light of the early morning. Everything pointed that this was the man that he was supposed to hunt down. He didn't look like any type of dangerous, he displayed a quite common picture of a person.

George squeezed the handle of his axe once again staring into the dark eyes of the stranger. He shoved the compass into his pocket and with a free right hand he tightened his grip around his weapon.

He felt challenged as the man charged into him once again swinging his sword. George blocked the attack from above with the shaft of his tool trying to push the individual away. They pushed around, muscles tense and shaky from the resistance. Breath once again heavy and their strength getting put up for a test.

The stranger abruptly pulled away making George trip a bit from the sudden lack of hindrance. It wasn't unthoughtful of the opponent as his swept his weapon from the left, once again forcing George to block the attack. With every charge of his prey he backed up and avoided every onslaught.

His intention were far from attempting to hurt this person, but he didn't want to get slaughtered either. His fighting style was more defensive than offensive which somehow really put off his opponent. The man with the beanie seemed to slowly loose durability from constantly initializing all the attacks that only met the resistance of the axes shaft or its blade.

“What's your deal?” he huffed lowering the sword. The man retreated leaving just enough space to make George understand that this duel has ended with a tie, and he was no longer intending to cause him any harm.

“Um- I” George didn't actually think that through, he found his alleged quarry and that was kind of the last point on the list.

“Well, I would like to say that I'm not here to hurt you” he said after a second of hesitation

“Yeah, I have noticed” the stranger responded as he put back his sword into a scabbard attached to his side.

“I thought maybe you knew more about whatever this place is” George started carefully. He put his axe back to its place of rest deceptively dreaming that he won't have to use it any time soon. The rustle of the letter in his pocket was obnoxiously audible in his ears. Though he couldn't bring himself to showing a stranger that he was supposed to kill a note that directly said that he has to sweep him away from the face of the earth.

“I think I may know as much as you do.” he answered looking up and staring a hole into George's soul. His eyebrow raised as he asked bluntly putting George in shock: “Are you a hunter?”

Maybe after all he knew much more that he thought. All that George was capable of at the moment was shaking his head up and down slowly as he reached to his pocket to feel the rough surface of the ruffled up papyrus. Handing it over to the stranger glancing at him in distrust but still reaching out for the letter to read through the words quickly.

His face somehow relaxed as he handed back the note to its rightful owner and pulling out a similar piece of paper out of the pocket of his button-up shirt. He gave it to make George realize that the messages not only where similar. They were identical.

“Guess we are in this together” the man said in a much friendlier tone.

“Yeah, we definitely have to discuss that” George said and the stranger simply nodded to swing his head to his right leading the way. They were walking in between the houses choosing to not take a seat anywhere.

“Okay then what's your name?” the man asked straightforwardly.

“I'm George”

“Nooo” the stranger groans in discontent, really confusing the brown haired man.

“What?” George asked absolutely dazed.

“You lost the element of surprise by saying your real name” his interlocutor answers as if he is pointing out the obvious.

“Well, you asked me for my name, so I answered you” he scoffs thinking to himself that this man is quite a strange type. “Anyways, then what's your name or what shall I call you?” George adds couldn't resist adding a good amount of irony into his question.

“Quackity” he answers simply sounding even proud because of his nickname. Brown-haired man can't help but to think that the moniker doesn't make sense, and he couldn't understand where did he come up with an idea of this name.

Nicknames in general weren't George's thing, he already had a name so why not just use it?

Quackity took out of the pocket of his trousers a recognizable item. A compass which pointed to the opposite of where they were walking.

“I have found the person that I'm supposed to hunt down, but we're on good terms. I don't know where he is right now however he should show up sometime” the black haired man said as he turned around facing George. “This situation is quite something else isn't it?” he adds as his face had some sourness painted over it. George has felt the same way about following the compass and this whole manhunt thing. Especially because the concept of it sounded like a whim. No explanation whatsoever.

“I guess you don't remember anything before showing up here” George says. Quackity shakes his head in disagreement surprising him.

“Actually I have a blurry memory of my home. I don't remember where it is, what it's called, but I know I don't belong to this place. It doesn't resemble my home at all” he states explaining his point. It doesn't help George, but he decides to not say anything and just nods to continue walking behind his temporary companion.

“My hunter's on my tail and he isn't the friendly type” says George establishing the previous statement about Quackity's quarry. He is able to grab the man's attention. He gave him the look to elaborate his point. “Before I got here I stopped in a nearby village, to my misfortune my hunter has found me. I didn't have as much luck as you had, he is taking the manhunt thing really seriously. For one, I can say he doesn't have good intentions” George sighs to continue: “And he wears a really stupid mask with a smile which actually just terrifies me more. He seems to be really advance and like he knows what he's doing”.

“Maybe he could help us get out of here?”

George stops in a half-step looking Quackity dead in the eyes: “Believe me he doesn't at all look like the helping type”

The silence stood between them when they collected their thoughts.

“Do you have any idea what this place is? Like where are we?” George breaks the silence looking up to the sky seeing ravens flying by. This place isn't that bad he would even dare to say it's quite bewitching in it's beauty. The only thing that broke that bubble of grace was constant nomadism leaving no place of stay, no home.

“Geographically? No idea. Especially because the biomes change so quickly, one time I was in the dessert and fifty miles later I was in a jungle.” his companion answers. Laughing at the end of the sentence probably using humor to cope.

George's mind once again goes spiraling on the train of thoughts. Are they supposed to settle down, build a house and try to live a new life ignoring whatever past was behind them? Or should they settle down but still eagerly run through a museum in their minds where they stored all the memories? Grabbing piles of sand with their bare hands trying to dig out whatever anamnesis was suffocating below it.

“Are you planing on staying here?” he asks voicing his thoughts.

There's a long silence where you could only hear their footsteps on the gravel path. It seemed that the beanie man was really thinking about his answer.

“If I can't get out of here I think I might be left with no choice.” Quackity finally responds heavily understandably not content with the option of being stuck here for the rest of his life. 

They get to the edge of the village which happens to be situated on a cliff. Again amused by the sight of this place. Sometimes it just seemed unreal, breathtaking to that extent that it couldn't be created by mother nature. Calm and Stoic regarding the chase and getaway. 

Quackity turned around clearly wanting to say something but as he faced George his smile fell. An arrow flies above their heads as a warning.

George just knows.

His hunter has found him again. 


	3. Ravine

Heart once again put up for a race. Wind feeling less calm as if the presence of his hunter made the weather tremble kneeling before him as if he was an almighty lord. A high-pitched noise feels up his mind hurting and making his ears feel all clogged up.

George didn't look behind. He was occupied with the word 'run' and he eventually does what he thinks. Grabbing Quackitys forearm to pull him into a hectic chase.

His chest burns with a familiar bloom of fear. His eyes water from the moody breeze maliciously biting and obscuring his vision. George doesn't see a lot, but he runs. He runs as if his life depends on it, which it does. He hopes that his companion took the hint and started to run because now he has lost him as holding his arm constantly would slow them down eventually. Maybe it would be better if they split up.

At the end of the day it's his hunter and his issue to solve.

So, he runs circles, odd paths, between different trees, without any pattern or logics. It feels pointless and hopeless.

He can't lie that the man with this smiley faced mask starts to tire him out. He feels like a helpless prey, endurance failing him with every step that ignites fire in his muscles. What he can catch with his peripheral vision is a statue in a bright coat. The hunter doesn't really move behaving like a marble figure. The only constant movement he does is firing arrows from a bow being only half an inch away from hitting him wounding just enough to make him break out of the run.

He is toying him.

His aim is close to perfect.

He just chooses to play with him as if he was feasting on his fret.

And George doesn't want to give satisfaction to someone who wants to feed his ego and clearly knows how much more power and experience he holds.

On the last spark of energy he runs opposite to the village and the way where he came from. That was his last chance.

His throat is dry, he feels blood at the back of his tongue for exhaustion and the only thing that keeps him going is adrenaline. If he stops running, he might as well collapse because his limbs start to numb feeling like they aren't touching the ground anymore. Nothing seems real anymore. George's mind goes into a void where his head is weightless as if he is starting to fall asleep, drifting away from thoughts. It's some kind of high, his slim legs moving mechanically in a trance and as air stopped putting on any resistance.

Soon he reaches a river.

George's mind goes blank without ideas.

One hopeless thought crossed his mind because once again he doesn't have a choice. He has to engage and fight. The river flows with a rushing current making the sough in his brain even more painfully annoying.

He doesn't have to wait long as his hunter shows up finally pushing away the bushes with the blade of his dangerously shining axe. His expression is achingly unreadable because of the mask. The only visible part of his face is his chin and the bottom lip. From which he can deduce a content grin. In contrast to George's discontent, he didn't want to fight, he just wanted to go home.

How trivial and dumb it sounded in this situation.

He doesn't even know what home is.

Shaking of this thought he reaches for the handle of this less fancy axe. He grips it with both of his hands closely to each other. They would probably shake if the tool wouldn't be heavy.

He doesn't initiate an attack still hoping for a peaceful way of sorting it out.

His hopes clash with the first meeting of their weapons. The hit is strong, it makes his arms tremble. Not in the same way that his fight with Quackity went. These attacks are a lot more forceful and careless just like he wants to cause him a lot of harm. He doesn't seem to acknowledge how much force he holds and what amount strength it takes to break. He seems to have no knowledge of how to fight to not drive somebody to their last breath.

George doesn't even see a chance to inaugurate any offense. Every move that the hunter does make it impossible to attack without getting wounded at the same time.

Even with his pathetic armor covering his chest he can imagine the hunter hitting right between the plates getting to his flesh. Not to mention that his opponent is armored too.

It's so pointless.

Doomed to failure.

But he can't give up just yet when he's still standing uninjured.

The axes clash once against. George is resisting with almost all the force that he has. He doesn't make any fancy moves afraid to take that risk. His hunter on the other hand isn't afraid of anything. He looks even bored at times.

The masked man swings his axe in a way to intertwine the two weapons together with their bent blades. His hands somehow present more mobility than George's and not even five seconds pass and his tool is lying on the ground out of his reach.

This is the only moment when he actually has a backup plan. Retreating slowly as he is staring into the dark void of two black dots on the mask that are supposed to imitate eyes. He is pretty sure that if he would be closer, he could see the hunters eyes peeking through the holes. The banks of the river are wet. He feels the water and mud touching his ankles as he decides to turn around rapidly and start running further into the river.

Cold liquid makes his clothes stick to his body making him heavier and uncomfortable with the grains of sand making him itchy. The resistance of the water is more than annoying and horrible.

George feels like he is in a dream where somehow you always just can't run fast enough.

When the level of the river reaches his waist he starts to push away thanks to his hands. Palms once again being ice-cold and starting to be numb. Maybe that plan wasn't this good as his backpack was starting to get wet and its content probably too. He couldn't go further into the deeper parts of the river if he didn't want to be devoid of all his resources.

He looked behind to see his hunter going after him with a troubled grin on his lips.

At least he wasn't the only one freezing.

He started to make a circle getting to the shallow waters once again. So close to his only weapon. Unfortunately, his hunter wasn't that dumb. He took a shortcut when he noticed what George was intending to do. The dark haired man's steps began being even more desperate. He was panting feeling tightness in his lungs and light headiness from the constant and rapid breaths. But he reached out for his tools lying on the edge of the river just to automatically shield himself when the hunter once again attacked.

He wasn't giving him a break.

Now their bodies both shivering from the wind pinching their skin because of the liquid. Soaked clothes sticking closely as a tight-fitting suit for an exaggeratedly valiant hero. Weapons put to each other with equal force. And both eyeing each other in a painful tension. One thinking of a way to attack, other one thinking of a way to escape.

They were pushing around like children playing a mindlessly cheerful game. It was a chance for George trying to turn him once again to have an easier way to flee towards the depths of this river.

So, they fought in a _danse macabre_ spinning slowly, sweat dripping on their arms. Nobody was ready to give up the violent intransigence. It was reminiscent of an arm wrestling competition where the jittering hands are too stubborn to accept the impasse of them just swinging in the middle no one gaining grounds.

The mask seems to stare blankly into George's soul, and he has never hated a happy grin so much like in this momentum. He doesn't know where this fight actually leads, he doesn't know if he will survive that and where he was going with this plan.

He wants to start to run, but they were so close that if he didn't want to end up with an axe in his back it probably wasn't a good idea.

George's hair is sticking to his forehead and he once again looks into the two dark dots to notice a bit of a shine that the pupils of his hunter reflect. At least now he's sure that he is a human because the amount of strength and endurance was beginning to be alarming.

Once again today he thought _'fuck it'_ and just made faster steps starting to retreat. The water still being a friend and an enemy simultaneously. He was tired of the fighting, running, resisting and now from the temperature change. It was just unpleasant, and he wished that he wouldn't have to go back to that slightly musty, cold water.

“Oh come on” the hunter growled irked.

The discontent coming from the rematch of the river fight.

It was the first time that he spoke. His voice quite deep and raspy like he didn't get many chances to talk, but it was the most fitting voice that he would link up to his hunter.

George couldn't help the eye roll even though he wasn't any better than the smiley masked man. He almost wanted to respond with a good dose of irony because it's all his fault. He wouldn't have to run if the hunter wasn't a psychotic maniac.

Even though it was nice to see a humane part of that man.

It made him less unreachable.

Easier to harm if needed.

Now the river was reaching them just above their waist and the hunter decided to not hold back anymore. Striking his axe in an act of destruction. Trying to break the shaft of George's axe.

As an answer George couldn't be reluctant as always. He fought back swinging the iron axe a bit mindlessly but just enough to surprise his rival with the sudden abandonment of indifference.

The early afternoon sun shone through a bit of clouded sky. It made the clashing blades shine.

This battle wasn't about who wins anymore.

It was about who runs out of courage and strength to fight back.

And that impasse could be in George's mind. Suddenly, he took a deep breath and immersed himself into the river, only the spherical waves marking where he used to be just a second ago. A Weapon cut through the water just next to him. His eyes were itchy from the dirty water he wasn't able to see anything further than eight inches. Blindly waving his hands he took a grip of material into possession pulling it down knowing it was no one else but his hunter.

That made him slip and also immerse into the water.

Everything slowed around them as if the time has stopped. Sounds muffled and distorted but hearing less made it peaceful and almost idyllic as it could be. Eyes sore and tight shut, sand tickling eyelashes and eyelids while swimming idly before being carried away rough by the waves.

George's lungs couldn't take it anymore, so he had to emerge to the surface. His breathing was heavy, and he was pretty sure that he's going to have permanent respiratory system issues if he won't stop doing dumb things like this.

He wiped his eyes hoping to stop the itchiness somehow or at least to make his vision less blurry.

Being blind would be a disadvantage, and he had enough of these already. Counting as one of them his backpack that was soaked completely at this point, and he couldn't do anything but complain in his head about the wasted resources.

Not long after George his hunter reappeared coughing from the rapid immerse into the water. The hood of his yellow coat fell down revealing longish, dark blonde hair in the back pulled into a tiny ponytail. His hand was tightly holding his loosen up mask against his face tying it behind the back tightly to a point it looked like the string was cutting into his head.

George wasn't up for anymore pushing around. While the hunter was still disoriented he headed with the river stream. The water pressure was getting higher which meant he hadn't to put more force into walking, but it was also dangerous. Ground slipping from his feet, slippery rocks being unhelpful in terms of friction and trying to not lose absolute control.

Which was happening right now.

Soon there was nothing under his feet just deep water and him in the middle of that with his hunter chasing him down. He was pushing away the waves trying to speed up as the blonde man was catching up.

Throat still dry and hand on the axe strapped to his side.

“You are so annoying” the hunter muttered under his breath while his hand wrapped around George's forearm.

He couldn't contain the snort.

That man was ridiculous.

He acted like George should just give in and surrender.

Once again they were scuffling just occupied with the fight to not notice an unknown force drawing them under the water. They let go of off each over trying to stay on the surface, but there came a moment where they had to take a last gasp of air to be emerged into the water.

Bubbles coming out of their mouths and nostrils. Bubbles on their hair and lashes lying restlessly and tickling their eyelids. Bubbles hugging the little strands on their clothes and pulling them down into what seemed an endless void. Which it wasn't.

George opened his eyes when he stopped feeling the pulling sensation. He was slowly falling down in a waterfall. Lots of stone and resources surrounding the area.

A ravine.

Tall, cold and what it seemed underwater. Darkness made it hard to see, but the walls were irregular, little dark speckles of coal scattered around the place. It was pretty and terrifying at the same time. He could do nothing until he was at the bottom of the ravine. Swimming up wasn't an option, the stream was too strong.

This place was filled with a weird howl it felt lonely as almost everything round here. It was even colder here than on the surface. His clothes still stuck close to his skin almost like they have fused into it. Grains of sand making him feel awful and desperate for a bath. The lack of basic hygiene was just disgusting.

George stood up uncomfortable with every step he took. Looking around the place filled with stalactites, stalagmites, and unfortunately, he has noticed not too far from him his hunter sitting like a lost child in a puddle of water close to the waterfall lead him down here.

At this point he was so done, so irritated.

By the cold, by all the abhorrent things that had happened to him, by this place.

He just doesn't care anymore and decides to speak.

“Oh god I hate you. I don't even know you, but I hate you. Because of you we're stuck here now.” he huffs angry when he got to his hunter. He doesn't care if he'll engage into another fight, he is just too tired for this.

The hunter looks up to him as always being almost completely unreadable with the mask. It's annoying.

“You tried to kill me!” George breaks trying to get out any reaction at this point. It's the lack of sleep, the exhaustion and the aggravating sand itching his back under the soaked shirt. He is all red with anger.

“Eh, details.” the hunter responds turning his head round cracking his neck. He still doesn't get up. His hands against the ground behind him and his long legs stretched almost like he is on a beach enjoying the rays of sun.

“You tried to kill me twice!” George snaps once again because he had never met someone half as annoying as this man. He is just so reckless and indifferent which makes George fume with anger.

“What is it? Day of saying obvious things?” he responds once again is bottom lip revealing a happy grin.

The hunter finally stood up dusting off himself looking not better than George. His mask was dirty and had a little crack on the right side right around the cheek. The bright yellow coat also seemed to have a gradient just next to half of his tight up being soaked with dark mud.

“Okay, we have to work out a way to get out of here.” the hunter speaks up once again. His vision limited by the mask, but he still looks around carefully straining his eyesight seeking something useful.

“And what makes you think that I would like to help you?” George answers also looking around and barely containing himself from calling that man names under his breath. It looks like he has given up on the fight for now, but you never know what can come to a maniac's mind.

“You kinda don't have a choice.” he laughs between the sentence thinking to himself that the brown haired man behaves like a brat with all of that huffing and snorting.

George falls into silence because he is kind of right. In absolutely peace they search the ravine, drops falling from the ceiling and the wind somehow still howling whatever number of feet they were underground. The ravine is kind of divided by a small stream of water, it isn't deep, it's just a small underground river. They have a silent agreement where George searches the left side and the hunter searches the right side.

They go right and forth a couple of times just to have nothing except some resources which they can't even pick up because they don't have a pickaxe.

“Ugh, I'm done.” George finally breaks the silence and sits down leaning against the wall. “It's pointless, its pitch black we're most definitely missing something because of that.”

“You're such a whiny baby.” his hunter responds while crossing the small stream and getting to the place where George is sitting.

In response the brown haired man once again rolls his eyes and huffs irritated. He reaches to his shirt to wring out the water.

“Then it goes for both of us. You can't say that when you're literally the one angry about that I wasn't an easy kill.” George says taking of his backpack that was sticking into his back. He opens it to reveal so many soaked things.

It's truly terrible and annoying.

He pushes away the bag not having any patience to put up with this issue today.

The hunter takes a deep breath, taking over his backpack and looking through it. George doesn't care as nothing of value can be lost now because he doesn't have anything useful in his possession.

“Don't be dramatic, the carrots are just in dirty and the bread can be dried out in the sun.” the hunter says after he inspected the containment of George's backpack.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but I clearly can't see the sun from here.” George snaps back once again, making the hunter just roll his eyes which goes unnoticeable due to his mask.

“Whatever.”

They sit two feet apart listening to the dripping water, their breaths, and the howl. It's repetitive and at times even annoying. George can't help the one thought of it being so cold. He feels like he's going to fall ill because of that. He just wants to fall asleep ignoring the goosebumps on his exposed arms. It's so uncomfortable to the point that he can't express.

“Gosh you look pathetic” the hunter suddenly says waking up half asleep George, who is ready to fight because of that rapid rouse. But he falls silent as he feels a material draping over him giving him enough of warmth.

A blanket probably coming from the large backpack that the hunter carries around, and somehow is still capable to fight and win.

“I already regret this it's gonna stink after you use it.” he says under his breath but just enough for George to hear.

“Well I didn't force you to give it to me.” George mutters in a sleepy voice not wanting to wake himself up.

“Am I supposed to get it back?” he responds but against his words he's going back to his spot to sit down. Earlier he wrung out his coat two now wrapping it around himself like a blanket.

George doesn't respond.

The water drips from the ceiling.

And the two enemies or what some people would call rivals fall asleep in a dark ravine.

A sheep and a wolf now forced to regard their role in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit late, but school was rough this week. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, see ya next week<3


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